


Will this do?

by feedmyflame



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, Bloodplay, Chair Sex, Doppelcest, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Knifeplay, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feedmyflame/pseuds/feedmyflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Elena shows up on Katherine's doorstep.<br/>(Graphic depictions of knife!play. Additional warning for depictions of self harm (of a sort).)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will this do?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Valentine's Day Porn Comment Ficathon. Prompt by fluffyfrolicker: "mirror, mirror."

Sometimes Elena shows up on Katherine’s doorstep.

It’s not very often, and it’s usually after a drink or two. But it happens.

She’ll walk up slowly, take a few deep breaths, debate whether to turn around and head home. Raise her hand to the knocker and lower it. More often than not, Katherine grows weary of her indecision and opens the door before she knocks, clued in to her presence by the thunderous heartbeat. They don’t usually talk at first, because there isn’t much to say; Katherine knows why she’s there, and Elena doesn’t relish discussing it. 

She comes inside without a word.

*

The first cut is always her favorite. Katherine has the most beautiful little knife, centuries old, and she tucks it gently into Elena’s skin; they start off slow. Elena chooses where the first wound goes—sometimes her abdomen, which will never swell, or sometimes her breasts, which will never sag. More often though, like tonight, her choice is cliché, obvious.

“Cheek, please.”

Katherine prefers that she say please, and Elena doesn’t mind.

Katherine’s face is inscrutable; they’ve never really discussed the _why_ , just the _where_. All Elena knows is that when she says “please,” Katherine strokes the curve of her face with long fingers, eyes soft. 

Elena’s left her jeans and sweater folded neatly on the nearby couch. (So they don’t get ruined.) Katherine doesn’t remove her dress—it’s black, and won’t show stains. It shimmies up her thighs when she bends.

Katherine holds the knife tenderly against her, and Elena closes her eyes, tenses in her restraints. She feels the sharp edge resting on her skin, testing the elastic of her flesh.

“Ready?”

Elena bites her cheek from the inside, steadying for its scarring. “Mmhmm.”

The aged vampire’s not rough, not vindictive; she’s never sweeter than when she wields a weapon, really. When flesh splits and yields to her blade and Elena sucks in air, Katherine’s free hand rests reassuringly on her partner’s leg.

“Ok?”

“Yes,” Elena breathes, and her words move her flesh against the blade embedded in her face. Katherine drags a red line across it and Elena’s features twist; her brow knits, her eyes squeeze, and her mouth falls open. It’s over quickly; just a second, and viscous trails leak over her skin as the knife retreats.

*

There’s a flash of familiar calm. Stress, fear, and grief leak out with the blood. Endorphins fight with pain receptors; stimulation buzzes in her brain, but it’s wordless, and it travels. 

The arousal follows almost immediately. A vampire’s sense of time is warped, a little, but the beat between the calm and the rush must be measured in tiny fractions of a second. No sooner has the blade penetrated her skin than a concentrated flick beats between her legs, and she makes an involuntary sound; Katherine doesn’t need it to pick up on the effect, but it doesn’t hurt either, and the hand that rests on her thigh starts to fidget. 

Katherine tilts her fingers so they stand nails-down on Elena’s leg, and she lightly moves them up and down, keeping her eyes on Elena’s tightly closed ones. Elena shifts down against wood; her shoulders strain in their sockets with her squirming, and her cunt clenches.

“Where next?” Katherine’s voice has a new edge to it. It’s hoarse in her mouth, thick, low.

“Wait—“ Elena opens her eyes. She has a new request, a deviation from their usual routine. She’s thought about asking before, but couldn’t get up the nerve. “Can I—do you have a mirror?”

“You want to see? You’ve healed already.”

It’s true—flesh knits back together in seconds, always, pain subsiding with it. Before she can mourn its loss, though, Elena gapes as Katherine moves to fulfill her request, in spirit if not in letter. She raises the blade to herself, holds it still, holds Elena’s gaze.

“Will this do?”

Elena’s quiet for a minute, looking for something in Katherine’s eyes. She doesn’t know what, exactly—pleasure? Misery? Self-destruction or self-love, something definitive? Whatever it is, she doesn’t find it; Katherine’s a closed book.

Insofar as the restraints will allow, Elena nods.

She watches her cheek separate in slow motion, scars erasing themselves behind their creator, and she utters a sound of surprise. It looks graphic, much more graphic than it feels; the violence of it catches her off guard. Is Katherine going deeper than when she cuts Elena, maybe? It’s hard to gauge.

No, probably not—the lines of blood reach about as far as the ones on Elena’s face, she thinks. She doesn’t have long to compare, though. When Katherine’s finished, she ruins the streaks with her fingers and runs them along Elena’s lips, coating them in red. Then, with the utmost tenderness, she kisses the lines off Elena’s face.

When their mouths come together, it’s hard to tell whose blood is whose.

*

(Pain’s nothing but concentrated neural firings. Normal feedback, just doubled or tripled. Nerves call out, pathways bring the cries to the brain, the brain’s supposed to take action to fix it, but Elena’s done some rewiring. She feels the pain, but she can control how much; usually she can dull it at will. Usually she does. In these sessions, though, she lets it all in. Lets it magnify until it crowds out everything else. Lets it take over her thoughts, lets the screams of flesh dominate all her neural pathways. She lets it pull her under.)

*

The second cut is a wildcard. Sometimes Katherine lets Elena decide where it goes, and sometimes she doesn’t; she intuits from Elena’s body language when to take over the choices. Elena’s not ready to relinquish control yet tonight, not totally. Katherine can tell she has a preference.

“Wrist. Please.”

Elena’s arms are bound behind the chair, laced with ties she could break if she wanted to. They’re more of a suggestion than a command. She doesn’t free herself, though; she fixes her eyes on the opposite wall as Katherine walks a half-circle to undo her bindings.

Katherine trails a hand down Elena’s forearm and stands fine hairs on end. Her hand comes to rest on Elena’s and she bends forward, speaking to Elena through her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Strands tickle Elena’s neck, raising goosebumps, and she focuses her vision on the crown moldings. Her thighs ease a few inches apart.

“I’m sure.”

Katherine makes a show of untying and retying her left wrist to the chair, using a rung on the back in lieu of Elena’s right hand, which she frees. When she’s done, she slowly threads her fingers through Elena’s and squeezes. Elena freezes for a moment—is this part of it?—but soon enough she returns the pressure, an unexpected warmth spreading through her chest.

The blade cuts across tendons and she calls out with a whimper, but it mingles with a moan, and she doesn’t ask Katherine to stop. 

*

(Elena almost asked Damon about this, once, when they’d gotten irresponsibly drunk one night at the Grill.

He’d ordered a steak, extra bloody, and they’d laughed far longer than the joke merited. The waiter had taken him seriously, though, and when the bleeding meat appeared he’d eaten it for kicks. He’d made some offhand quip about the dullness of the steak knives. She’d swallowed a probing piece of blasé banter that could have led to…well, not this, but maybe something like this, and he missed her struggle and smirked and wiggled his eyebrows and fed her a juicy piece from his fork.

She couldn’t ask him to cut her. He wasn’t Stefan—didn’t see her in shades of light—but sometimes she thought she blurred a little at the edges when she passed into his vision, her outline a diffuse halo. He could throw her against a wall, nudge into her skin with his teeth, but she didn’t think he could stomach marring her the way Katherine could. 

No way would he have sliced his pretty face to show her how it bleeds.)

*

_The second cut is a wildcard._

Katherine leaves the knife in a little longer this time. The skin bumps up against the sharp edge, trying to heal around it, but the barrier stays in place and the blood keeps flowing. It seeps into the ridges between her fingers and Elena’s, and the sticky warmth gets under her fingernails.

Elena feels her veins sagging, their contents voiding too quickly. “Katherine—“

Instantly the women are face to face, and the seam in her wrist mends itself rapidly. Cells rejoin in relief and Elena looks weakly at her likeness.

A red and olive blur moves into Elena’s mouth, and her arteries replenish. The cut from which she drinks is a clean slice through a slender wrist, and the blood of two doppelgangers mingles on steel.

*

(It’s not the first time she’s had to drink from Katherine’s veins. Every now and then she’ll forget to pace herself, and she’ll ask for a spot with too much potential for blood loss.

Sometimes she thinks she does it on purpose.)

*

Elena takes her time. Her gulps are deep and luxurious, and she pauses between them; she sets a deliberate rhythm, pulling along Katherine’s veins. Soon Katherine’s self-inflicted entry point closes, and Elena reopens the wrist with her fangs. Her eyes train on the other Petrova with anticipation. A recognizable shift in Katherine’s face makes Elena’s pelvis thump—she watches the ridges form in Katherine’s forehead, the part between her lips widen slightly, the rise and fall of her chest quicken, and she can feel the reflection on her own features.

The second she withdraws her fangs and circles the closing wounds with her tongue, Katherine’s on top of her, straddling her thighs. The chair almost knocks backwards as she tastes herself on Elena’s lips, ravenous and unrestrained, and Elena bites down with equal hunger. She drops her hand to Katherine’s cunt and works two fingers inside it, moving her thumb quickly against sensitive nerves. Katherine moans; grips Elena’s hair; relaxes her lip, lets Elena suck life from it.

Katherine’s blood leaps in Elena’s veins, recognizing itself through the barriers of skin. Elena curls fingers towards her, rubbing soft wetness, and Katherine tightens her thighs around Elena’s with a whimper. “Harder,” Katherine says. Her lip is trapped and the word comes out warped.

Elena increases her speed, taking full advantage of her vampiric enhancements, and soon she senses a distinct change in the timbre of Katherine’s breath. She lets go of Katherine’s lip and listens to the hectic scurrying of air; it builds with her pressure, and Katherine’s eyes squeeze shut. She grips Elena’s shoulder to brace herself, pleasure spreading from Elena’s movements. All at once she contracts with a cry; she pants and contorts under Elena’s touch, and Elena feels muscles clench around her. They’re familiar. (Familial?)

An ecstatic swell in her core makes Elena want to relinquish control, and she knows she’ll let Katherine decide where the last cut goes.

*

Elena would like to pretend her visits are spontaneous, but you don’t pick out lingerie for a spur-of-the-moment interlude. Especially not lingerie as pretty as the kind she’s wearing tonight. Sparse white lace, delicate.

It doesn’t form a very effective barrier against Katherine’s tongue.

“Fuck.” Elena exhales the word, unable to remain still as Katherine tongues fabric against her clit; her hips sink into her wet caresses, and she arches away from the chair. Her left shoulder screams; she doesn’t care.

“ _Fuck_ , Katherine…” She’s close already, Katherine’s blood working rapidly through her system. “Take them off, please…”

(Katherine prefers that she say “please,” and Elena doesn’t mind.)

Katherine’s caught her breath, and she’s slunk down to her knees, poised between Elena’s. She grabs the knife from the floor and slips it under the fabric over Elena’s hipbone. The sharp curve rests on Elena’s hip, not breaking the surface, not drawing blood, and Elena wonders how long Katherine will tease her before the third cut.

The knife jerks upward and rips through fabric. Katherine works quickly, slicing the other side in an instant, and this time she’s clumsy. A few drops of red escape onto the white fabric, and Elena inhales sharply.

“I’m ready,” she pleads, “anywhere you want.”

“No,” Katherine says, running her hands along Elena’s thighs and drawing her further forward. She hoists long legs over her shoulders and Elena gasps. “I’ll know when you’re ready.”

Katherine’s body moves against Elena’s, shoulders digging into the bottom of her legs, mouth hovering over her cunt, fingers poised at her entrance. Elena whimpers, once more, _please_ , and Katherine slides her fingers in and kisses Elena’s clit between bloody lips in one smooth motion. Elena’s free hand grips at the crown of dark curls as her body rises up in cooperation. She’s losing language again; the pleasure’s almost as effective as the pain. Another kiss, deeper this time, and a deeper thrust too, and she might be making noise but it’s not reaching her ears. The wood presses up against her tailbone as it moves in time with Katherine’s rhythm, and she feels the pressure of her doppelganger stirring a rising hum between her hips.

God, she’s good with blood on her lips; the sticky red dilutes with Elena’s wetness, and Katherine sucks at both over firing nerves (normal feedback, just doubled or tripled or quadrupled or more). Katherine hears her blood rush faster in Elena’s veins and she curls her fingers around the knife, raising it in her left hand.

*

(The third cut is a memory. Not actually a cut, really; it’s the wrong angle for a cut. Katherine’s felt it before, over and over, at Klaus's command. When she feels it again, it’s vicariously, and it turns erotic through the lens of Elena. Reframing is all she has. She’ll take whatever digs she can.)

*

Elena’s eyes are closed, and she doesn’t see the knife hovering over her thigh. She’s so close, so incredibly close, and she barely notices the chair digging into her back or the bruises healing themselves over her tailbone. 

When Katherine buries the knife to the hilt in muscle, though, Elena notices.

It’s the surprise; she’s caught so off guard that she couldn’t dull the pain even if she wanted to. For a second it monopolizes her consciousness so completely that she ceases to feel pleasure; an atomic bomb of feedback floods her, and she calls out with a distressed whimper. As soon as it escapes her lips, though, chemical defenses kick in, and the most powerful pleasure the brain can dispense rushes over the pain. It’s a new high, a blast of maximal sensation radiating between her thigh and her cunt, and Katherine tastes it on her; hears her breathing change; feels her veins pulsing differently, and she tips Elena over the edge with well-timed jerks of her fingers.

Elena explodes forward, wrenching her shoulder nearly out of its socket, and a series of gasps rack her lungs. She clutches at Katherine’s hair and holds her between her legs, tangling her body over her kneeling likeness, as cycles of ecstasy grip her. It seems to last an eternity—she writhes against Katherine, over and over, barely able to tell where the boundaries are between them.

When finally Elena collapses back against the chair, Katherine grips the blade firmly and slides it out, and muscles join under healing skin. Red drips slowly onto the floor, lazily sliding off the steel, and its patter mingles with the sound of air traveling between Elena’s lips. 

Katherine wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. They don't talk, because there isn't much to say, but Katherine slumps against Elena’s legs until their breath falls into sync.


End file.
